


interstitial

by Alias (anafabula)



Series: Porn Without Plot With Continuity (Of Porn) [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Plug, Banned Together Bingo 2020, But also, Cis Elias Bouchard, Double Penetration in Two Holes, Exhibitionism, Knotting Dildos, M/M, Male Solo, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multiple Orgasms, Omega Elias Bouchard, On Multiple Levels, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Serial Divorcees Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas, Sexual Fantasy, Solo Edgeplay, Weird Beholding Masochism, beholding kink, he’s very vain and you know what? good for him!, through the wonders of a/b/o worldbuilding we can multitask
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-18 15:41:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28994643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anafabula/pseuds/Alias
Summary: Elias thinks there's an under-appreciated appeal to handling one's heat oneself sometimes, actually, mated man or no.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas (but they’re currently divorced)
Series: Porn Without Plot With Continuity (Of Porn) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2137407
Kudos: 28
Collections: Banned Together Bingo 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [alternate usage](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24160507) by [Alias (anafabula)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anafabula/pseuds/Alias). 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fills “`Happy Divorce`”. Because. Well. 
> 
> Elias is cis, for an “amab omegas have ‘both’ mainstream kinds of junk by definition” value of cis. Words used are cock/prick, cunt, pussy, folds, also cervix one (1) time; in-universe that level of would-be equal-opportunity language is my intended default in general.

Elias tries to bite back a noise of frustration when he rolls his hips down and comes up short; he does not entirely succeed. The knot on the toy under him is relatively small and stubbornly not _in_ him regardless, and the delicate balance between mostly-pleasant anticipation and bone-chilling absence is practiced, for him, but not exactly easy.

He does actually have to work himself open, like this. Heat notwithstanding, the absence of another body with appropriately compatible pheromones puts a hard limit on how far out of the ordinary Elias’s own body may be without further coaxing and good reason. He _wants_ something more inside him, of course, in a way that beats a tattoo in his skull fit to override any other priority if he hadn’t already made plans to set the rest of his life aside. But, just now, desire be damned, it literally wouldn’t fit.

This is part and parcel of why spending a heat alone is always interesting to him; Elias does genuinely enjoy every time he ends up with free rein to get himself back into the habit after he and Peter have separated for good again. It may all make the scar tissue on the back of his neck feel tight and sore and itchy, certainly, but that’s balanced out by the much sweeter ache climbing inexorably from the base of his spine, urgent and interesting and just as familiar, as long as he knows first to be prepared.

When they _are_ strictly together, and he’s left alone without warning – that does hurt, consumingly, in a way that annihilates thought or planning. Given time to plan out what he’ll do instead of his currently-ex husband, it’s more than a bit different, and Elias likes the challenge, though to his slight mystification he’s never examined another omega who’d agree.

Certainly the ever-growing market of relevant sex toys implies other omegas are doing _something_ , though, even if there’s no accounting for taste in how they feel about the experience. There’s a pleasing variety waiting for him (it’s a hobby, at this point) once he satisfies himself as much as is going to happen with the dildo he’s currently riding. Or should be riding, instead of grinding absently against the knot that’s too large for him as he gets ahead of himself reviewing plans for later.

(Set within arm’s length on the bed, also, because he learned _that_ lesson quite some time ago.)

He doesn’t have to hold the dildo steady to start riding it again, at least to the extent that he’s doing, more lazy but increasingly urgent rolling of the hips than actual bouncing. Why put in the effort of the latter if he doesn’t have to, _honestly_. This early in the heat, his body still acclimatizing to even the first rush of hormones as it truly sets in and his mind deceptively clear as long as what he’s thinking about is getting a dick inside him, his cunt’s discontent no matter what he does; lift off the knot that he can’t quite take and he misses the pressure and the promise of it in a way that fucking _stabs_ him when he experiments with holding himself an inch away for longer than natural, grinding against it and it’s too-still-not-enough.

Elias sighs – he can’t resent the logistics, not really, but – and gets his hand on his cock to take his mind off it, slicking his palm with precome in a way that’s almost routine. His hips buck towards his own hand, getting a better rhythm against the dildo by finding something else to prioritize, and he keeps his grip loose at first, every graze of friction rolling through him like a shockwave.

He’ll be coming dry and untouched sooner or later, of course, but that’s another thing he’d prefer to draw out, on his own. Right now he shudders as he actively strokes himself through it, spine bowing, climax drawn out almost to the point of pain as the tension between his cunt and his prick seeks and fails to find an outlet even as he paints himself a bit with come –

 _Then,_ of course, at the point of the somewhat frustrated breath after that first orgasm, while he’s unclenching his jaw and blinking the spots out of his eyes. Then the knot pops in, of course, his ass suddenly and unceremoniously flush with the bed, that tension twisted immediately into grounding pressure. Elias has to rest his hands on his thighs and breathe through it, for a minute, even as part of him keeps up the commentary that this should hardly be all that impressive.

And it strictly speaking isn’t; it’s not enough to feel right or satisfying or _filling_ , exactly – his cock’s still hard and everything – it’s just pleasant on its own account anyway.

He sighs at the necessity of moving again this soon and circles his hips, critically, letting the knot drag against every part of his cunt it does put pressure on, somewhere between teasing and assessing. The amount of work – preparation, still, strictly speaking – left to be done means that when he tries to lift himself off the dildo the first time it instead rises with him, at least, a somewhat uncomfortable tenuous weight; he has to bend forward to brace his hand between his legs in order to hold the base steady, instead, to painstakingly pull it out.

It’s terribly awkward – nothing to be done for it, though – but pays off in the way that the knot pulling free brings involuntary tears to his eyes, breath coming in short pants at the unnatural sensation as the knot stretches and his body struggles and then the toy _pops_ out of him, a jarring but tantalizing loss that’s remedied as soon as he brings his hips down again.

At first it’s almost too much, which is rather the idea, especially with how abrupt the shape of it is as it works in and outside of him. He works himself through it as the dark, hot tension adapts to wanting more, to the harsh punch of the knot inside him and the increasingly-easy stretch of pulling it out, until there’s no pause to it whatsoever, just a smooth, slick glide, like the knot isn’t even there.

Even compared with his limited patience with this position, though, it happens very quickly. He supposes that can't really be helped.

Save insofar as he helps himself, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Expectation: "wow I'm not sure how I'm going to make this scene hit the minimum 500 words..."  
> Reality: well,


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this doesn't fill "`Masturbation`", I don't know what _does_.

The speed with which his body loosens and demands more is something he’s planned for as well, from experience. Necessity of design and what’s presumably the specter of legal liability both mean that knotted toys, nice as their shape might theoretically be, have to run small, enough for the full knot to feasibly go in and out of the user’s cunt (or other relevant hole, Elias supposes, he wouldn’t particularly judge) – which is to say, small enough to defeat the _point_ of a proper knot, the overwhelming pressure and restraint of it. He does have one dildo for which the swell at the base is inflatable; it’s the one he’s working up to, he’s rather looking forward to it. But the need to stretch himself open doesn’t mean he’s particularly pleased with the experience being easy enough to cut itself short.

Every part of this endeavor is a balancing act of satisfaction versus anticipation, overwhelming himself enough to make an absence that could – evolutionarily speaking, perhaps should – consume him instead mere spice, needing his own wits about him enough to actually orchestrate that. It’s not that he isn’t getting lightheaded with the temptation to collapse into mindless rutting. It’s just that nothing _useful_ will come of doing so.

Instead, he pointedly catches his breath and reaches across the bed again (it shifts the dick inside him in a way that makes his breath catch less voluntarily, a nontrivial reminder that his body’s existence – currently – very much revolves around his non-negotiably hungry cunt). The plug he comes back with would be even more unimpressive than the knot – it’s narrower than his wrist, for goodness’ sake – if he didn’t have other plans for it; instead, he brusquely slicks it up with the lube he’s past needing in front and raises his hips again until only the tip of the dildo’s left teasing just past his folds and ignores that fact, the better to get the plug into his ass immediately and move on with his life.

He has to breathe through it with the kind of focus that makes him slightly wish he’d fingered himself more recently than this morning to manage it, but – his body is, on a great many levels, all but built for taking things inside himself as opposed to anything else. It’s enjoyably difficult, making his cock twitch and his cunt reflexively clench as if in not-particularly-productive sympathy; and then a slight strain, and then after the widest point the rest of the plug slips in with greedy simplicity and that’s done with.

Elias fiddles with the narrow base, a little, just to make sure he doesn’t mind where it’s sitting (just to make it vibrate a little inside him, also, admittedly; he’s only human). The effect on him is, as intended, immediate, and when he moves to sink back down on the knotted toy one more time he _can’t_.

This was the intent – eking out more time and more pleasure from a relatively small insertion while he’s still in more or less his right mind enough to multitask, the sort of thing that’s too calculated and too indirect to be worth it or even possible when it comes to partnered heat sex. Part of him’s frustrated anyway. Most of him still remembers this is worth it: the way both toys open him and press almost against each other, coming close – what feels like coming close – to occupying any empty space inside him.

It’s squeezing tears out of his eyes by the time he hits the window during which the knot feels absolutely enormous and he’s finally got it in. He gives himself a while, again, doubled over but brought up short, to adjust (too much, not enough).

When he gets himself off again it’s almost an afterthought: easy, a known quantity, a lovely moment of extreme tension around the toys he’s stuffed himself with and white sparks flickering behind his eyelids. Pleasant, but not a priority; sharpened, always, by the knowledge of why he actively wants the distraction of pulling another orgasm out of himself instead of just letting it happen when it happens.

Elias lets himself collapse after that – better to give his legs a break when and while he can, really – and this time, when he goes back to methodically fucking himself until he’s managed an adequate stretch, he does it pushing and pulling on the base of the toy himself, thighs splayed. There’s a little bit of practice needed to get a grip, just as a factor of how wet he is and how wet it is as a result; at first it takes both hands, and then he’s got it steady, and not long after that it’s easy again. He groans a little with the loss and with the muscle use when his head spins sitting up, even just enough to – finally – get his hands on a larger cock.

Not the biggest one, still – he’s still diligently working up to that, even if part of him feels like that’s a mistake, feels _sure_ he’s already loose and sloppy enough for it to be the only viable option. Another day (night? Not night yet, he thinks) and he’d want to appreciate the shape and texture of the dildo he _does_ choose, the swooping ridged shaft that’s given up any pretenses of realism in favor of more stimulation.

Instead, he lays back and – after a moment of consideration – bends one knee to bring his foot up closer to his side, angling until he’s got better access to… well, no two ways about it, until his pussy’s gaping even when it tries to reflexively clench on nothing. He’d be a slick, shining mess if anyone were watching, hole obviously well-used and easy and yet just as obviously unsatisfied.

It makes him smile a bit.

He stays there for what would be too long, otherwise – but it behooves him to memorize the twin feelings of emptiness and need, the idea of being _revealed_ taking the more unpleasant kind of edge off the deprivation this entails. Then he weighs the dildo in his hands a moment longer (it’s a nice texture), too, until he can feel want beating at the door of his mind – maybe a bit too long, here, actually – means to slide it teasingly against his folds and slick it up by so doing, when he does finally reach down, but the angle’s shit even with both hands and when he unceremoniously thrusts the first couple inches of the dildo straight into his cunt he’s not actually sure it’s an accident.

Regardless of his own half-conscious intent, he’s breathless with it when it does go in, forcing his body open, rubbing at him in a way a human cock objectively could not. He stops with it half inside – leaves one hand holding it steady, maybe coaxing it forward just a little – and rubs at just the head of his cock until he’s gasping and working himself infinitesimally further down the shaft, and…

Doesn’t quite come, actually, the frustration acute enough to make him groan exclusively in irritation.

Well.

That’s as much of a sign as he’s going to get that he should be moving on with things, he supposes. Far be it from him to defy it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry eleventh-hour BTB fill! It is, in fact, "`Porn`".

Elias does work the rest in more slowly, regardless, though. Takes his time about it, teasing at pulling out those scant inches until only the head’s inside him and then thrusting back in, both luxuriating in the way the ridged cock drags at the sensitized walls of his cunt and working more slick down its length. He could be impatient, here – could forcefully shove it in again and see if that’s too much friction or enough to make his cock jerk and spurt whatever come he’s got left in him without further intervention. Could sit up, maybe, and use his own weight to take it to the base all at once, and see if doing so makes him scream.

He does neither. The thrusts in and out are slow and indulgent instead, until he starts reflexively moving his hips to meet them again, bucking gently off the bed, rolling against nothing but air and occasionally his own wrist. Teases even taking this knot the first time for what feels like ages and might be minutes, when he’s hit the beginning of its swell; works it only part of the way into his cunt at a time, holds it as steady as he can at the widest point for long enough that he gets a low and noticeably involuntary groan out of himself for his troubles and then pushes it the rest of the way home all at once.

There’s a sort of hot fog in the back of his mind, at this point beyond ignoring – soon, he won’t be able to edge himself like this intentionally at all. Which is, by Elias’s reckoning, not just a reason but an _obligation_ to take advantage of the fact he can do so now, really. He waits, with the razor-wire control of necessity and habit, until this cock, too, he can work in and out of his body with the swell of the knot barely noticeable beyond a sense of texture, ridges that could hold it still inside him earlier an afterthought, the stretch and the friction a glorified tease. 

By the time he can, he’s sore from the bottom of his ribs to the lips of his cunt, like overworked muscles but inverted: the sense of hard use has no conclusion or desire for rest behind it. He can _hear_ some of the thrusts in, lewd, wet noises that – well, he’s a grown man, of course, but he leans into the slight sense of shame that pulls up in him, would-be humiliation tickling welcome over his skin. He aches and throbs and every heartbeat just says, _More._

Which is to say he’s well-satisfied with his preparations – just as planned – even if getting there was occasionally aggravating. But it takes a moment staring up at the ceiling before he can conceive of actually sitting up and reaching for the cock he actually _wants_. 

He embraces that, too, lets his arms rest. The dildo that _is_ in fact still an… object of concern despite his own disinterest slips part of the way out of his cunt as a result, and that’s admittedly awkward. He still doesn’t much appreciate the loss when he pulls it out all the way, and he has to admit he’s losing focus. It genuinely takes him a second to remember this is for a reason; he’s swallowing the slightest bit of budding anxiety, albeit still with more than enough presence of mind to be irritated with the slip-up, by the time he gets his wits about him enough to be positioning the thing he’s _been_ working up to at his entrance, and his hands shake. 

It’s big enough that the bad angle stops being forgiving at all, which is wonderful in itself, if inconvenient. Elias lifts himself up on the balls of his feet – he’ll regret this position, probably soon, but the idea of moving any further than he _absolutely_ has to in order to better enable stuffing his own cunt (finally finally _finally_ –) is significantly more intolerable than dealing with the muscle strain in some vague future later. More direct by far to just widen his stance and lever himself up a bit so there’s nothing in the way of angling the fat head of this dildo better against himself except his own shaky impatient hands, moans openly when it stretches him as much as one of his less realistic dildos’ knots would just on the way in. 

There. There, _fuck_ , that’s the real reason why he bothers with the rest of it all – 

There’s a swell before the base of this one, the extra material that inflates when pumped full into as good a facsimile of a proper knot as anyone’s managed to get on the market; so he’s _very_ much looking forward to that, but in the meantime it means one extra round of stretching his pussy that much further. A little preview. Working his way down the shaft and then stopping and restarting that familiar process of coaxing something wider into himself by degrees. It’s not that he isn’t up to the challenge – he’d be fucked in the much more metaphorical sense, if that were the case – not a question of desire but logistics. And he intends to savor it. Properly.

He lets his body relax from the waist up, shaky and boneless, face turned into the pillow and eyes mostly closed. In his own bedroom, of course, he’s absolutely spoiled for choice in terms of other vantage points regardless. Elias flits through them quickly as his fingers tremble – there, it _almost_ went in that time, fuck – assessing himself from all the angles easily to hand, letting his gaze trail heavily over his own spit-slick lips from one side, the desperately flushed head of his largely ignored cock from another. 

It’s predictable enough what he ultimately settles on, though, head-on and a bit elevated; he brings his heels up nearer to his body and parts his thighs until they burn as he shifts and lifts his hips even further into the air, the automatic effect of making him grind absently against empty air once given the opportunity a distant concern save for how it relates to giving himself a better view.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, last but... extremely not least... "`Prurient Interest`".

Elias imagines, then, that the eyes he’s Seeing through belong to someone else. He’s not alone – no – in fact he is surrounded on all sides (the number of observers an arbitrary ‘enough’; more specificity is hardly relevant to the scene), of course he is, those viewpoints he’d experimented with each belong to – the little crowd transfixed by watching him, nameless, powerless men, alphas and strangers to him, relevant only in how _palpable_ it is that they each want to do more than look. Each of them hard and aching and miserable, _their_ pheromones doing some of this work for him (well, he can dream), frozen in place. For him.

He imagines the man whose gaze he is borrowing, a better place to mentally transpose the furious, frustrated need that Elias _won’t_ be able to put so much as a dent in than many – so imagine him, then, unable to do so much as touch himself and actively in pain with it, his skin crawling with the way this scene makes his body flush hot from the back of the neck outward, like someone’d gripped him there with a hand made plasma and forced him to sit and _stare_ and that’s why he’s just – looking, helpless and silent and ruefully aware he has, if anything, the best seat in the house. Watching his thighs strain – and he’s slick for inches of skin down now, catching the light, demanding the eye of any observer look further – and his pussy stretch taut around the dildo, so obviously oversized in his hands and yet perfectly able to be worked into his body, like a human cock might be except they don’t _deserve that_ because all they could possibly do to satisfy him is wait and strain and _watch_ –

When it _does_ get all the way in – the fat head of it palpably hitting his cervix, the sort of thing that would _just_ be intolerable any other day and currently makes him see stars and almost lose his balance with how much that is _exactly_ where a cock knotting him belongs – it knocks the breath out of him and shakes his focus clean out of that vantage point. He claws his way back to watching himself move the dildo in tiny, sharp thrusts, almost by reflex. 

Elias is panting openly, eyes screwed shut, and has to fumble inelegantly for the control dangling off the fake cock inside him so he can make the knot swell in earnest. Then he’s got it in hand and can prolong that too-much-enough stretch on the thrust out, back in, thicker every time when he’d _be_ getting used to it. His thighs tremble and his hips work mindlessly for stimulation that by and large won’t come and – there there _there_ , perfect, he times it _just_ so he’s genuinely concerned that he did inflate the knot too far on the pull outwards, fumbling his slippery one-handed grip on the heavy silicone so that he’d pulled the shaft out all the way to the head as he did, and then it punches inside him instead in one long thrust and his toes curl so urgently he almost loses his balance with it. 

He presses the heel of one hand against the base of the dildo and inflates it the rest of the way as fast as he can with the other – registers dimly that he’s whining through gritted teeth, that even his shoulders are barely touching the bed at this point – gives it a few extra, clumsy pumps just to make sure when he thinks he’s gotten to the maximum extension – rubs his own cock almost as an afterthought, more interested in the palpable contouring of the fake dick inside him, but the direct and electric stimulation still proves to be what he’s missing as he comes – 

_This_ orgasm finally feels coordinated, as it were, it makes his vision go black and his body go limp and brings him as close to whole-body satisfaction as he’s going to get. His pulse beats urgently between his legs as his thighs twitch with aftershocks and his cock starts to go soft. 

Won’t be for long, of course, but – this is nice. This is the closest he’s going to get to enough, and he intends to enjoy it.

Elias can’t close his legs entirely, what with the width of the base of the dildo lodged in him, so he just stays like that for a bit, pleased and boneless. There’s the pseudo-tinnitus whine of anxiety and dissatisfaction looming as if over his shoulder, sharp but quiet enough that, for now, he can use it to highlight the moment to himself by way of its limitations, as he absently pets over the slight bulge under his navel. 

A few more rounds of this – at most – and he’ll have hit the point where he has to get actually _creative_ , but he’s more than up to the challenge.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Not_ my original intended fill, as it happens—comments and work on the much longer, and very different in tone, fic this strictly shares a universe with made me have to codify how obtrusive ‘being an omega’ is to most other people’s lives (hint: Jon is not good at it; that said, most people would be _enjoying_ this less than Elias is, he’s weird), and then one thing led to another.
> 
> I have a) thoughts on where the fantasy goes after this (still working on making writing masturbation interesting so I wanted to keep this relatively short and sweet, tbh, I hardly lack for need of practice at that anyway), b) a definite track record at this point of writing previously-unplanned fic when my brain latches onto a given comment. (For one thing, there's that work in progress threesome on a different note entirely.) So...


End file.
